


The Beginning of Forever

by Another_Freak1258



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, BAMF Bucky Barnes, Bullies, Childhood, Female!Bucky, Fluff, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Kid Bucky Barnes, Kid Fic, Kid Steve Rogers, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 19:52:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2400878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Another_Freak1258/pseuds/Another_Freak1258
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Pre-serum!Steve Rogers & Female!Bucky Barnes)</p><p>When Steve was young his mother told him that a blank piece of paper was a fresh start, that anything was possible.</p><p>Oh how right she was.</p><p>[Taking place in the: When_Somebody_Loved_Me_Universe]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beginning of Forever

One of the most special feelings in the world was the one you got as you started something. In Steve's case, this meant a picture.

He was bitting his nails as he stared at the blank sheet, debating what he should practice drawing. He'd sit in his room hours on end sketching the same thing over and over again, aiming to perfect it. But now, sitting here at his kitchen table, he wanted to draw an _actual_ picture. Steve wanted to see where his practice had lend him thus far.

The only problem was that he couldn't for the life of him figure out _what_ to draw. His mother, Sarah, seemed to notice Steve's nail-bitting as she continued to clean their poor excuse for a kitchen.

"You're not going to have any fingernails if you keep that up, Stevie," Sarah commented fondly, despite her annoyance at her son's bad habit. Steve's eyes traveled to his mom's back before he let his hand fall onto his lap. He mumbled an apology, knowing that his mother disliked the act. "What are you sketching?"

Steve's tongue darted out of his mouth to wet his lips. He stared back down at the blank paper frustratingly. "Nothin'. Can't think of anythin'," he answered thoughtfully, debating wether or not he could get away with biting the eraser of his pencil. He knew money didn't grow on trees, and that having quality pencils and paper were luxuries, but that didn't stop him from think about it.

Sarah laughed at her son's tone. For an eight year old, Steve was a very serious person. And while that was kind of adorable, it was still troubling.

The world seemed to get tougher and rougher everyday, and it was starting to become hard to pay for everything. Even with both Mrs. and Mr. Rogers working. Sarah wanted Steve to enjoy childhood while he could, but it didn't seem like he could find a place to. There were two ways people looked at her son, either with pity or disgust. But that didn't mean that it was okay to look at him like that just because he was scrawny, practically skin and bones. Just because his spine could barely keep him together and his lungs were much like two, wet paper bags. Besides Steve's health, she was worried that he would never make a friend.

An _actual_ friend.

Not a pity-friend or a fake-friend. A real human being that enjoyed Steve for Steve and never put him down, physically or mentally. Someone who look after Steve when Sarah no longer could.

However as far as she could tell, Steve didn't really mind his recluse lifestyle. But again, at such a young age, he probably doesn't understand much of anything. But to anyone else, it was obvious that Steve hated his disabilities and social skills.

Sarah just simply could not understand how her son didn't have friends. He was talented, smart, and polite. A gentleman in his truest form. Again, this was another thing many adults thought was cute, since he's still only eight. But Sarah had caught glimpses of the bruises Steve hid after coming home from school, and it didn't take a genius to figure out that the blond managed to get into a fight.

Mrs. Rogers talked to Steve's teachers about this, and most of the time Steve had started it. At first she became more considered, because she of course viewed her son as an angel, and to learn that he had been _starting_ the fights was baffling to her. To her surprise though, the only time Steve started a fight was to defend somebody. While she was still immensely concerned for him because of how easily he could he hurt, she decided to redirect him instead of scold him. It had worked so far, to Sarah's knowledge, but sometimes she swore that she could see a hint of blue or purple on Steve's knuckles.

"Well," Sarah started, her back facing Steve, "a blank canvas is a fresh start. Anything is possible." The blond considered this for a moment before his eyes flickered to their window. The sunlight was flooding into their house and it was still a few hours before dinner, so he decided he'd try to find some inspiration, perhaps even a muse. "I'm goin' fer a walk," he announced, standing up and beginning to gather his art supplies.

"The weeping willow?" Mrs. Rogers asked knowingly. Steve continued putting his pencils and paper in his artist tote bag before slinging it over his knobby shoulders. "Yes," he answered, already on his way out. They both exchanged a 'be careful' and an 'I know' and then Steve was gone.

His stick-like legs carried him to the park. Which, really wasn't that much of a park, more like a field. A vast valley of grass next to the orphanage, with a single weeping willow resting on the hillside.

But since Steve visited the place so many times, and because it was basically a park at this point, Sarah and Steve both knew where he was going when he needed air.

He had to take several breaks before he got there, his lungs protesting his journey. But when he did he smiled pleasantly, happy to find that the field was empty. He stumbled over to the tree. Reaching it, he set his tote bag on the ground before plopping onto the grass himself.

It was rather hot outside, being so close to July. And Steve supposed he should be happy, since next week was his birthday and all. But it didn't feel like something someone should celebrate. The birth of sickly Steven Rogers, the reclusive asthmatic. Not that they even had even money to celebrate his birthday. Sarah didn't think he noticed, but he did. Especially when she took extra shifts at the hospital, and between the economy and his father spending so much money on alcohol, it wouldn't take a genius to figure it out.

Steve's dad wouldn't stop by too much, but he did help put food on the table. To Steve, that's all he was worth. It was no secret he had alcohol problems, but didn't treat Sarah right. He'd never seen, nor heard it. But a few times his blue eyes caught the sight of a bruise forming, or a split lip. And the blond knew that his father was responsible for it.

So he sent them money once and a while, and as much as they both hated to admit it, the extra suppose definitely helped.

Steve was still lost in thought when the orphanage doors opened, and a few kids fell out. A few children ventured into town during free rec. hours, but only a few took advantage of the privilege.

It was just Steve's luck that a group of three boys spotted him. He faintly knew there names, but couldn't place them at the moment. His eyes flickered to his book bag and he rapidly opened it, trying to ignore them as they approached.

" _Hey, Goldilocks_ ," one of them said. The blond didn't look up. Unhappy with his lack of reaction, he bend over and pulled off Steve's old, worn hat. "Hey!" Steve snapped automatically. He liked that hat. The bully waved it over his head with a sickening smirk.

"Whatcha gunna do 'bout it, Rogers?" He asked, saying each word as if he was spitting poison out of his mouth. The blond huffed, shuffling to his feet with annoyance painted on his face. He took a deep breath, one he didn't realize he needed until he took it. "Give it back, please." As much as Steve wanted to bash the older boy's head in, he remembered, you always had to try being polite first. It was practically a unwritten rule Steve had.

But the three boys only laughed, the one still holding Steve's hat slightly louder than the rest. "Or - " he cut himself off, laughing, " _or_ you'll do _what_ exactly?" At some point the boys had surrounded Steve, blocking him from running. Not that he would, he was way too stubborn for that. One of the boys, a tall one with dark eyes, swiped Steve's tote bag. Which of course caused the contents to inevitably fall onto the grass, a few papers blowing away and his art book hitting the ground with a small thump. "Stop it!" Steve spits, flashing a face of anger at the tall one.

"Why don't ya get it yourself, Rogers?" A new voice says, with a swift turn Steve realizes it's the third boy. Which makes sense, but he had a small moment of panic when he heard it, thinking more people were coming over to help the bullies. "Well," Steve counters solemnly, "why don't you give it back?" A beat of silence passes, and suddenly Steve is on the ground clutching his stomach.

It actually takes him a moment to realize he'd been punched, which sounds sort of stupid, but it happened so quickly it left him a bit dazed. The tall boy drops the hat, but the asthmatic is too busy to notice. Steve tries to get up, but the tall one pushes him back to the ground. He continues to hold him until the first boy - whom the blond thinks is their 'leader' - complains about it not being fair. _He wants a fair fight_? Steve muses, _then why is it three against one?_

"Let 'em up!" The bully demands with an irritated tone. The tall one releases him, but Steve hesitates. A part of him doesn't want to get up because he's stubborn like that, and the other doesn't want to get up because this is a stupid thing to fight over. But after a second passes he's to his feet, and it was almost impossible to notice how reluctant he was while rising. For a moment they all just blink at each other stupidly, but then Steve throws a punch at the leader's face. It meets it's mark, and the boy stumbles back, but it leaves Steve's knuckles screaming in agony.

With the leader occupied, the blond managed to distract the other two in the spur of the moment as well. It was obvious that they didn't actually think Steve would hit one of them. So with the two others turned to face the leader, he uses his advantage and grabs his art book that had fell out of the bag earlier. Proceeding to smack the tall one on the side of his head with it. Steve feels a little bad when he clutches his head and screams rather loudly, the symptoms of crying showing on his face. But he drops that feeling the second he is punched, a sharp, unforgiving pain blooming in his jaw.

Admittedly this does knock Steve onto the ground, which, causes the back of his head to hit the weeping willow. "Argh!" He hisses, his smudged hands flying to his cranium. But, the bullies wait for him to get up. It takes the asthmatic a moment or two, and his body definitely protests, but he sucks it up and bounces right back only to get punched again. This hit however doesn't just knock him down, but his vision goes black around the edges and Steve might actually get knocked out of this continues.

But does that _matter_? Really actually make a difference from simply losing? He knows that he has no chance against these three boys. Not just because it's unfair, but because he's not _built_ for combat. Every time he gets into a situation like this he can't help but wonder if he was born with the wrong body. He knows he won't ever be able to do too much without flirting with death, but dammit, Steve will never just sit down and take it.

No matter what, he's always going to fight back. But it's not ever going to be about whatever whomever said. It's not going to be about Steve's hat. Because it's always going to be about standing up for himself.

He shuffles to his feet and actually does manage to dodge a few punches, even throwing a few of his own, but none hold true and he falls down again. And he gets back up, because he always will.

The next several moments are a bit of a blur for the blond. There's a distant voice shouting, but Steve can't focus and doesn't know what it's saying. Suddenly he's hit again and closing his eyes in pain whist rolling on the grass. He obviously can't see anything, but things he can hear make him want to clean his ears with acid. He'd never heard such profanities come out of a dame's-

There is fighting sound around him and an angry, very _female_ voice. Oh God, he was being rescued by a _girl_. And how low was that? He can already heard the kids at school, mocking him for not only lacking stamina to fight his own fight, but having _girl_ finish it for him.

Apparently this is all the motivation Steve needs to get up, but when he looks around to find something to grab onto for purchase, he's met instead with pale blue eyes and messy brown hair. She's a little older than Steve from the looks of it, and very tall for someone so young. The brunette is missing her two front teeth, and her knuckles are already bruised. _She probably gets into fights often_ , Steve assumes.

To be completely honest the blond is a little impressed that she sent those boys running. She was visibly tough, you could just see it in her eyes. "Yer not hearn' a thing I'm sayin' are ya?" She says loudly, her voice heavy and very Brooklyn-sounding. Steve suddenly realizes he's been staring and his eyes flicker to her outstretched hand. But, Steve being Steve, doesn't grab it and instead does it the hard way. The girl look a little surprised when he gets to his feet all by himself and a scowl forms on Steve's face.

"Well fine then, _yer welcome_ ," she mutters lowly, dropping her raised hand. The blond bends over and rolls his eyes, starting to collect his fallen possessions off the ground. "Didn't ask for yer help," Steve bites back. He is a little ashamed that he's being rude, but it's the truth. "Well, kid, sure looked like ya needed it." He gets up to face her so fast he thinks he almost gave himself whiplash. Steve is blushing, but his angry expression makes it seem like it's only a natural side effect of being mad.

He doesn't really know what to say to her, but his face alone is enough, because the girl starts to walk away with a confused, offended expression. "Gee, sorry..." She mutters almost like an after-thought. She's almost to the sidewalk, but suddenly a stay paper connects with her face. Naturally, she starts to panic and flares around. "Aghh - ogff!" then the brunnete's on the grass, still desperately attempting to peel the paper off her face.

Steve is too occupied picking up his things to notice her struggle, but he is fuming, and probably wouldn't of done anything even if he did notice. But when she finally does detach the paper, she yanks it down angrily. But her irritation dissipates when she sees the picture, granted it's little crinkled, but it has a beautiful picture of Brooklyn from outside a window. The girl gasps a bit as her eyes dart to each detail, in awe from the spectacular sketch. Steve is just about to walk back home when she gets up off the ground and hollers at him.

The blond lets out a heavy sigh as he turns around, visibly annoyed. The brunette approaches him with the paper clutched in her bruised fists. "Did ya draw this?" She asks, either not noticing his irritation or choosing to ignore it. The girl turns it over, letting Steve get a good look at it. His eyes linger on her a second longer, memorized the ridiculous look on her face. He stares at the drawing intently for a good moment before shrugging. "Yeah," he mutters, gaze dropping to the ground. Steve didn't really see what was so special.

"It's amazin'!" She praises. The asthmatic looks up at her again. Her smile almost takes up her whole face, and she's genuinely speechless. Her smile falls as she try's to add something; opening and closing like she wants to say more, something more detailed, but unable to grasp any of her thoughts. "Thanks," he says, and the girl hands hold out the drawing. "Nah," Steve says while shaking his head, "you can keep it. It's crinkly anyhow."

The pictures stays between them for a moment longer before the brunette tightens her hold and brings it closer to herself.

Steve is ready to leave again, but the older girl insists on a conversation. "What's yer name?" She asks casually, and Steve supposes that yes, this is a causal conversation. It's also the longest conversation he's ever had with someone around his age. "Steve." Normally he would hesitate answering a question like that, but he did give her a drawing and she did help him. They have to be on a first name basis by now.

With a weirdly proud tone, the brunette closes her eyes with a smile, pointing to her chest with her thumb. "My name's Jamie," she informs, "but people call me Bucky." Steve smiles a bit as he tilts his head. Bucky's arm drops and her eyes open once more, settling on Steve's lopsided grin. "Let me guess, it's cuz yer missin' yer two front teeth?" He guesses with laughter in his tone. Surprisingly, she simply shrugs, her smile mirroring his.

"Dunno. Probably. Never asked," Bucky answers, her tongue darting in between the gap of her teeth subconsciously. Steve's grin falters a bit and he coughs awkwardly, anxiousness creeping back up his spine. "Oh, and I'm sorry about - _ya know_. But, do ya gotta death wish or somethin'? Yer either the stupidest or stubbornest person I've ever met." The blond's brow furrows, and Bucky's smile drops.

"You mean - the fight? Don't worry 'bout it. But... _what_?" Steve asks with a bit of a worried tone. Bucky carefully holds the drawing meanwhile, placing it in her dusty pant's pocket with care. She places both hands on her hips, the brunette's stance wavers a bit before she decides the lean in a comfortable position.

" _I mean_ , ya kept gettin' up! Ya coulda gotten yerself killed if ya weren't careful!" She elaborates. Instead of getting upset like both of the children expected, he simply shrugs again and states in a calm voice, "Well, 'm not just gunna roll over and take it."

Bucky doesn't press him anymore on that, and pretty soon they had been talking for hours. Ten minutes in Bucky suggested sitting under the weeping willow tree, knowing that if her legs hurt, Steve's probably did too. "Do you live near here? I haven't seen ya at the orphanage," Bucky asks, picking at her nails absentmindedly. "Ya mean yer..." Steve cuts himself off, not wanting to he rude. But the brunette does seem to mind because she explains further. "Yep. Since I was three," Bucky says. Steve hums, looking at his feet.

"But anyhow, do ya live 'round here then?" She asks again, and the blond looks up. They meet each other's eyes. "A little bit away, like, twenty minutes or so," Steve answers with a very neutral tone. Then, Bucky hums as her eyes drop to her pants, apparently happy with Steve's answer. "I'd like to hang out with ya sometime." Steve nods as a smile splits his face. "Yeah, yeah I'd like that too."

"Why were you here anyway? Not much to see really," Bucky says as she goes back to picking at her nails. He let's out a tired sigh, which oddly turns into a weird hiccup of sorts, but Bucky doesn't even look up. "I was...well I guess I was lookin' for inspiration," Steve answers, jutting out his jaw for a moment before he flinches in pain.

"For a drawin'?" Bucky guesses, looking up at him with wide eyes. She didn't look surprised or anything, they just popped out naturally. A lot of things about this girl made Steve's head spin, and he's barely known her for half a day. "Yep," he answers, and Bucky drops her gaze. "Still need an idea?"

A crease forms on Steve's forehead and he leans forward, closer to Bucky. "Why, ya got one?" Steve questions, intertwining his fingers. Bucky just freezes, staying still for a good ten seconds. Just when Steve's about to poke her, she finally blinks and says, "Ya should draw this tree." A beat passes.

"This one?"

"Yep."

"Why?"

Bucky shrugs. "If ya came to this spot for inspiration, then utilize the scenery. This is a pretty nice tree ya know." Steve laughs at that. At the tone of her voice. She said it like he was being rude, like the tree had _feelings_. He peers over his shoulder and the blond's eyes scan the tree bark. "That's not a bad idea," Steve compliments, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Thanks. I'm not a half-baked plan

kinda gal," Bucky states proudly, a chuckle rumbling in her lungs. She makes a sound like she's going to add something, but clears her throat instead. But afterwards - like Steve suspected - she continued, "But I suggest ya do it t'morrow, it's gettin' dim out 'ere." That causes Steve to whip around, eyes looking at the sky.

"Wow, sorry but I better start headin' back," Steve informs, stumbling to his feet, "it was real nice meetin' ya." He rubs dirt and grass off his pants out of habit. Bucky gets to her feet as well, a toothy smile greeting Steve as he looked up at her. "Ditto, kid. Come back some time, kay?"

With a smile of his own, Steve finally put his hand out for Bucky to shake. With a pleasantly surprised expression, Bucky grabs it and firmly shakes it.

"Definitely."


End file.
